


i'm fine, says the fever

by carefulren



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Fainting, Hurt/Comfort, Ilnesses, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sick Character, Sickfic, TK is a dumb dumb, Tumblr Prompt, Whump, Whumpfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carefulren/pseuds/carefulren
Summary: TK wakes up sick, figuring he caught Carlos' cold, so he goes to work anyway despite the fever he's running.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes (9-1-1 Lone Star)/TK Strand
Comments: 12
Kudos: 496





	i'm fine, says the fever

Carlos had been sick, picking up a small cold from another officer, but TK had insisted at the time that he didn’t care and still wanted to sleep with him, banking on a relatively strong immune system to keep the virus at bay; however, perhaps his immune system’s been compromised due to previous drug intake because he wakes for his shift two days after sleeping with Carlos to a throat that burns with each swallow and a headache that thumps softly against his temples.

He’s hot. His blankets feel smoldering and heavy against his skin, and he kicks them off with a groan that brings with it a few dry coughs. He brings a fist to his mouth, coughing into it as he swings his legs over the bed and slides to his feet. The quick motion blurs his vision, and he brings one hand to his head, the headache pushing to a steady pounding now.

“Shit,” he mutters around a few, lingering coughs. He tugs at his shirt collar, hoping to bring some cool air to his heated skin, and stumbles to his bathroom, sluggishly opening his medicine cabinet and reaching around until his hand finds the Ibuprofen bottle. Snagging it, he moves to close his mirror, stopping when his hand brushes against a digital thermometer. 

Carlos never had a fever; he didn’t even really have a cough. He was congested, a little more tired than usual, nose irritated and red-rimmed from sneezing, but that was it. TK ghosts his fingers right above the thermometer, and he almost forgoes it entirely, but as if to push him, a wave of heat washes over him, burning at his face, his cheeks, and he snags it with a sigh, turning it on and popping it under his tongue as he opens the Ibuprofen and shakes out a few pills.

The thermometer doesn’t take long to beep quietly, and he plucks it from his lips, frown pulling at the corners of his lips as his eyes stare hard at the 101.2 degree reading. He puts it away, opting to keep this to himself, and pops a few pills into his mouth, washing them down with water cupped in his palm. The pills grate against his sore throat, and he winces as he strips and steps into his shower, putting the water on a cooler temperature to chase away the heat.

The cool stream washes over his heated skin, and he presses one arm to the bathroom wall and drops his forehead against his arm, eyes fluttering closed as he goes still, only letting the shower break the heat. He zones out, almost nodding off, feeling far too fatigued after a full night’s sleep, and he only comes to when the water goes from a pleasant cool to a piercing cold that has him jerking awake with a trembling gasp. His hands shake as he quickly moves through familiar motions of washing himself, and he’s stumbling out of the shower four minutes later, shivering hard, teeth chattering, as he grabs a towel and pulls it around himself.

Drying himself is hard. His limbs have succumbed to a chill that he can’t wipe away with a towel, yet his face still feels oddly hot, and he knows it’s the fever. His reflection when he walks by the mirror is pale, worn, yet his cheeks are colored a deep red, and he presses the back of his hand to his cheek, feeling the heat warm his cold hand.

It’s fine, he tells himself. He just has to wait for the medicine to kick in, and then he will be fine. He’s not in a job position where he can call out from a cold, not when there are so many lives on the line daily. He slips into sweats and pulls a soft, yellow hoodie over his head, slipping into a pair of sneakers before snagging his bag as he starts out of the room.

His dad’s cooking. He can smell omelettes the second he steps into the hall, and his stomach churns at the strong whiffs of eggs and peppers. Swallowing thickly, he takes a moment to compose himself because he has to, and then he steps into the kitchen just as Owen’s plating an omelette.

“Good morning, TK!” Owen sings, voice rising and falling in a made up melody, and TK opens his mouth to reply, but then a tickle hits his nose, and he, instead, turns away to sneeze sharply three times into the crook of his arm, groaning around a light sniffle when he brings his eyes back to Owen. 

“Maybe not such a good morning?” Owen asks, eyes hyper-focused on the flush clinging to TK’s cheeks, standing out against too pale skin, and on the soft tremors that TK tries to hid by crossing his arms. “You look terrible.” 

“Wow,” TK drags out, wincing at the pain in his throat and the congestion thick in his voice, “thanks, dad.” He moves to slip past Owen to the fridge, forced to maneuver around Owen’s outstretched hand reaching toward his face. 

“TK,” Owen starts, concern etched across his forehead. “Your flushed. You look like you’re running a fever.” 

TK’s been expecting this ever since he caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and despite his pounding head muddling his thoughts, he’s worked through three possible conversations that will come from his current appearance, and he shrugs, opting for the nonchalant route as he grabs his reusable water bottle from the fridge, having left it in there to chill overnight.

“I just got out of the shower.” 

“I know,” Owen says, and TK freezes, not expecting that response. He spins around slowly, frown painted across his lips, and he tilts his head in silent question. 

“Your hair’s suffering,” Owen mutters, motioning toward his own hair. “You haven’t styled it. You always style it.” 

“I woke up late.” 

“No, you didn’t. Your alarm went off at the same time it always does.” 

Rolling his eyes, TK turns back around, filling his bottle up with water. “Creepy much?” He asks, going for a joke, but Owen doesn’t take to it, only sighing behind TK.

“I’m fine,” TK mutters, coughing lightly as he turns back to face his dad. “Carlos had a cold, and I guess I caught it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing as if trying to will his headache away. 

“You should take your temperature,” Owen starts, turning to leave the room, but TK stops him, calling to him around a few more coughs.

“Dad, stop. I already did, and I’m fine,” he mutters out the lie, sniffling lightly. “I have a headache that I’ve already taken medicine for. I’m just waiting for it to kick in.”

“You should take off today.” 

“And risk the entire team calling out favoritism because the captain’s son gets to stay home with a small cold? No thanks.” TK snags his keys from the key dish on the counter. 

“It’s not favoritism,” Owen says sharply, yet the frown pulled at his lips contradicts his tone. “I would let anyone take a sick day if they’re feeling unwell. Your health and safety is always my top priority.” 

“When are you going to make it yours?” TK asks under his breath, and he’s forced to look away at the pained look Owen shoots him, bringing his eyes to his feet. 

“TK--”

“--it’s fine,” TK says, sighing. He brings his gaze back to his dad’s. “I’m fine. I’ll see you at the station.” 

*****

After hours of his team picking at him, for his hair being “too floppy,” to his voice sounding “dumb,” as Probie so nicely put it, to the light-hearted, disgusted shouts every time he coughs or sneezes, TK’s silently thankful to be on their last call, a head-on collision on a remote back road.

He feels considerably worse. Though he’s been taking medicine every four hours, the Ibuprofen is doing nothing to touch his headache, and he’s been alternating from hot to cold all day, a clear indication that the medicine hasn’t even come close to touching the fever he’s been running. His voice is rough from coughing, weak, cracking, almost gone entirely, and his jacket pockets are stuffed with tissues.

He feels miserable, and he takes a moment to cough harshly into his fist, hunching in on himself, as the others hop out of the truck and start toward the scene, with only Judd lingering behind.

“That doesn’t sound good, TK.” 

“I’m fine.” TK snaps, but he doesn’t mean to. He’s been the center of his father’s concerned gaze all day, and frankly, it’s aggravating him to no end. Five different times his dad’s managed to snag him aside and question how he’s feeling, try to feel for a fever, just general doting that he doesn’t want. 

“Being sick sure does make you cranky,” Judd grumbles, and TK sighs shakily, groaning low in his throat when fever chills replace the previous heat that’s been mercilessly clinging to his bones. He hops out of the truck, crossing his arms, and he shoots Judd an apologetic look before slipping his helmet on. 

“Sorry,” he offers, turning away to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm. “Cap’s been hounding me all day about this, and I just want to work in peace.” He brings his face back toward Judd, reflexes too slow to dodge the hand that sneaks past his helmet’s visor to feel at his forehead. 

“He’s hounding you with good reason,” Judd grumbles, bringing his hand back with a frown. “You’re on fire.” 

“I’m fine,” TK pushes, and Judd opens his mouth to retort, but then there’s a lot of shouting, and they whip around to see Owen calling out orders. 

“Get the jaws of life! We’ve got someone not breathing trapped in there!”

TK falls into quick motion, moving along Owen’s orders, doing what he can to assist his team, to free those trapped in both cars. For a moment, he forgets everything, his headache, his fever, the heat pouring off his face, but then, when he turns to grab a neck brace for Michelle, the heat from his face washes over his entire body, different from before, different from the heat of a fever. It’s engulfing, and it blurs his vision. He stumbles to a stop, blinking rapidly to try and clear his eyesight.

It’s not working, and he can feel his chest constricting against the panic that slams at him. His ears begin to ring, the heat begins to grow far too unbearable, and the next time he blinks, his vision is gray, and then he blinks again and everything goes dark.

*****

“-K?”

TK starts to come to slowly, struggling against the heavy weight of a headache pushing against this temples, down his neck, to his shoulders. He feels like lead, and he can feel someone shaking his shoulder, touching his neck, his forehead.

“”Tyler Kennedy Strand, open your eyes right now!”

There are two people in Texas who know TK’s full name, and that booming, worried tone is not Carlos. TK’s eyes snap open, and Owen’s face mixes with relief and concern.

“There you are,” Owen mutters, hand sliding down TK’s cheek, worry etched across his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

TK moves to push past Owen, memories flooding back slowly. His body’s shaking, but he pushes up into a sitting position, looking over Owen’s shoulder toward the car. “The girl,” he mutters, lungs bursting and bringing forth thick, heavy coughs. “Is she--”

“--she’s fine,” Owen says, hand clamped to TK’s shoulder to keep him upright. “You, on the other hand, are not.”

“What happened?” TK asks, eyes frantic, darting between those surrounding him, falling to Carlos, who’s sporting an unreadable expression.

“You fainted,” Owen answers, but when TK moves to stand, he tightens his grip. “Woah, TK, easy. You should get checked by Michelle first.”

“I’m--”

“--if you say you’re fine one more time,” Owen snaps, and TK goes still, flopping back against the grass, draping an arm over his head. He starts shaking when the chills pick back up, and he remains lying on the ground, tuning out the voices over him as he’s looked over by the EMTs. 

*****

TK fell asleep as soon as Owen brought him home and urged him to take the flu medication they picked up on their way back, and he sleeps for hours, only coming to to quiet voices from the living room. Opening his eyes is hard, swallowing around the dryness painted in his throat is harder. He coughs, pushing up into a sitting position as rough coughs jerk against his lungs. He slips out of the bed, bringing his blanket with him, wrapping it over his shoulders, and he stumbles out of his room, dizzy yet curious.

He makes it to the living room, shivering, jaw clenched to keep his teeth from clacking together, and he drops against the door frame, arching one brow at his dad and Carlos chatting on the couch.

“What is this?” He asks, turning to cough into his blanket, and Carlos starts toward him, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Your bed head is cute.”

“Stop,” TK whines, moving to pull the blanket over the back of his head. “Why are you here?” He looks past Carlos to Owen. “It’s 2 AM.”

“Carlos wanted to stop by and check on you,” Owen answers, moving out of the living room to his own room. “I’ll leave you two alone. Not too late, Carlos. He needs rest.”

“Dad,” TK drags out, coughing weakly, and Carlos nods and bids Owen a good night.

“Why are you up?”

“The sound of my fuck buddy and my father talking is bound to wake me up,” TK grumbles, and Carlos laughs quietly and brushes the back of his hand to TK’s forehead.

“You feel warmer than before,” Carlos frowns, and TK sags against him, dropping his head to Carlos’ shoulder.

“I feel like shit,” he grumbles, sighing softly when Carlos’ arms wrap around him. “How did you get a small cold and I got the fucking flu?”

“Remember when you said you were too busy to get your flu shot?”

“Fuck off,” TK spits out weakly, and Carlos’ laughing vibrates against him, warm and comfortable, and he moves easily as Carlos guides him back to his bedroom. “Are you going to stay?” he asks, climbing back into his bed, and Carlos arches a brow.

“I was going to ask if that was okay.”

“You’re already BFFs with my dad,” TK mutters, sleeping pulling at him sharply. “You might as well now.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi or drop a prompt off on tumblr! (@toosicktoocare)


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